[41st Year of Foresai, Middle Fire Month, Day 12]

“I think, genuinely, my heart to the Gods, that he knows exactly what he’s doing. I think they’re all in on it.”

“Even Cailloux?”

“Absolutely.”

“You think that Cailloux, Boullope, and Lytton are all on that together?”

“They have to be! You can’t possibly disagree with me on this, can you? Raeven, please.”

Zanac’s imposition hung in the air, Raeven leaning back in his seat and stroking his smooth chin thoughtfully. The pair had decided, through an exchange of increasingly long-winded letters, to spend an afternoon together upon Raeven’s return to Re-Estize - though this beckoned the question of location. The palace had been struck entirely as a meeting place, the appearance of the second prince inviting - of all nobles - Raeven for a chat unseemly and suspicious in the wake of the most recent crisis. Raeven’s manor in the city, those homes of mutual associates, any of the city squares, and Illithica had been struck for the same reasons; the theaters, guild halls, and jousting events had been nixed - in contrast - for the dullness of their activities. This left only one true option, a restaurant, and the two now found themselves at “The Cooper’s Brew,” a nouveau establishment that fashioned itself half brewery, half eatery. Zanac and Raeven were thusly furnished with steins, Zanac’s containing a light brew, Raeven’s nearly pitch.

“Well, your assumption… all correct, fine, but - and hear me out here.”

“I’m listening.”

“Boullope and Lytton, yes.”

Zanac blinked, went wide-eyed, and broke into gregarious laughter.

“You think Cailloux didn’t know?!”

“Not a chance. I mean… maybe. But, I mean, think about it. Why do they- rather, Boullope need to tell him?”

“Keep him in their camp?”

“They don’t need him. They can afford to burn a count for their reputations.”

“Is Lytton not also a count?”

“Semantics at best, surely you agree there.”

“I do. I do. Okay, Marquis, I see your point.”

“Wonderful.”

A knock came at the door to their private room, it sliding open to reveal a pair of waitstaff. Raeven raised a quizzical eyebrow, catching Zanac doing the same; the two women who entered were beautiful, possessing a charm second only to the most adroit socialites, who were just the right balance of buxom and scantily dressed to ensure repeat business without being outright lascivious. The first came in with a platter of assorted cheeses, breads, and smoked meats; the second with a pair of sealed flagons, which were respectively slid onto the table and used to top up their beverages. All of this was done without a word, and Raeven gave the women an appreciative nod before they left.

“It would seem the owner of this place is a shrewd man.”

“Indeed, though surely this isn’t the sort of place to bring one’s wife to.”

“I’m sure he has men for just that reason, no?”

“That’s the second time in a minute you’ve made an astute observation.”

“I’m not half as dumb as I look.”

“Aren't I meant to be saying that?”

“You’re clearly the wittiest Ryle.”

Though there is the matter of his sister.

The events of the twenty-first had worked their way to Raeven. Had it been caught by anyone except the ears of a House Raeven maid, he would have thought it a fallacy; had it been caught by any of his house’s maids except his first cousin, he would have thought it exaggeration. Raeven understood that fatherly desire for a family meal, and though he thought Ramposa foolish to attempt it with the Ryles, he sympathized with the decision. The idea of the quartet bickering was standard enough, but Zanac’s purported outburst at Renner was something else entirely. What had prompted this was indistinct and unclear, an acute mote of fog that refused to burn away in the daylight.

She’s a locked box though. Her eyes as a girl, the things they held, the way they looked at things. It’s almost impossible to tell. I wonder if I could press him on that. Should I try?

“Something like that.”

That sounds like an admission. I think I will try. Worth a gander, at least. Steer things, see if I can’t get an answer. Something light, then push. What would- oh, literally the matter of “light.” They’ve gone to the guild for it, and then Renner lodged her own request for civil purposes. One of her typical acts of charity.

“So, I must ask, who’s the pick to replace Jelka?”

“Why? Wanna slip another man into your pocket?”

“If I had traitors among the palace staff, I can assure you, Prince, they would be much finer assassins than the ones that your enemies had stationed.”

The men were silent for a moment, before breaking into raucous laughter. The pair spent over a minute fitting, their cries dying for a time, before the sputtering suppression of one triggered a new riot from the other. Finally, the pair slowed, Raeven’s lungs burning.

“I’m warning you, Marquis. You try that joke with anyone else.”

Zanac swept with his arm before cracking back into a snicker.

I- I need to get back in order. In the name of all that is holy. Elias, why would you ever say something like that? Telling the prince I’d have him killed. I’ve peaked!

“Am I being tutted at?”

“By the Gods! Raeven. I- I can’t have words”

“I must admit, that was taboo of me.”

“Taboo!? You’d call that taboo!? You’d be standing at the gallows with a rope ‘round your neck and insist that you’re having a ‘mildly bad day,’ probably as a result of that joke!”

“Oh… shit! You think!?”

What was I doing again? Right. Renner.

“I try not to. Particularly in moments like this. No… uh, right. The matter of the Defense Coordinator. It’s gonna be Helgrave.”

Raeven suddenly remembered that there was food, having lost that fact in the previous madness. He began loading his plate with the serving utensils, and despite his best efforts, struggled with the task. This was something typically left to the maids - or in this case, waitresses - though this meeting demanded privacy, and thus none were present. Raeven considered feeling embarrassed, though watching the second prince lag the same way assuaged his shame.

“It’s been decided?”

“No, but there are no voices for Theiern; and to my knowledge, Helgrave has the backing of Vellen - at least tacitly.”

“What is Ro-Lante to do in the meantime?”

“Muddle along under Macnamara. Well, it's not Jelka’s absence that’s the problem - plenty of people want the office and the handoff there will be clean - it’s Ekhan’s.”

Ekhan… who’s Ekhan?

“I don't know the name.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. What do you know of our force composition?”

“Well, there’s the Royal Guard, whatever knights rotate through, Stronoff and company-.”

“And the palace professional guard.”

“You have guards from the city? The elite?”

Raeven thought for a moment, pausing between words to take a large bite of veal. It was overcooked, something he found a minor travesty.

The advantage is obvious. Knights have battlefield experience, but the palace isn’t a battlefield. Intuition and perception are key here, and a seasoned veteran of the city streets would have that in droves. Same advantages as adventurers, but probably a lot cheaper.

“Indeed. You see the problem?”

If they’re guard, then they’re low-blooded, and if they’re out of the sight of the city commissars…

Still struggling to masticate his mouthful, Raeven lodged it in the side of his cheek, and eked out a few words with his mouth covered.

“No formal command structure?”

“Three points to you, Marquis.”

“This… Ekhan. He is… older, more experienced?”

“He was.”

Raeven finally swallowed, feeling both relieved and miffed. He sliced himself a much smaller piece, skewering it on his fork with a subtle annoyance.

“I see the problem. Is there a replacement?”

“No. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole unit dissolved.”

“No one with the charisma to hold it together?”

“Charisma, yes, but more like social capital, for lack of a better term. Do you-”

“I do, Your Highness.”

“Right. So, that gap is unfillable, but the rest should get patched over in due time.”

“What would that mean for your sister’s bodyguard?” No, too forward.

“Do you know how Eight Fingers breached Ro-Lante? I’ve heard rumors of secret passages.”

“I can’t speak to that.”

“My apologies. Still, are you to make upgrades to your defenses?”

“Why? Are you looking to secure some contracts?”

“I thought we assumed that as a matter of course.”

“Beware those bringing ‘mutual benefit.’”

He’s downed two beers, and he still has his wits about him. How often does he get written off as a lush? That sort of trait is far better in a leader than temperance.

“Ouch! Now I’m truly offended.”

“Any other complaints to lodge? In any case, we are conducting improvements.”

My in.

“Such as the lighting.”

Zanac paused, face freezing. Raeven felt plussed by the reaction, this only getting worse when the prince set down his fork, swallowed, and sat up straight in his chair.

“How did you know that?”

Why is he so suddenly on the defensive? Reveal my source with a joke, surely that would defuse things.

“I have my friends in the Magicians Guild.”

“You learned this from them?”

“They purchase certain precursors from me, luminant slurry and the like. I tell you, the tallow makers won’t be happy.”

Zanac turned his head off to the left, muttering under his breath.

“A leak, then.”

He’s surprised by that? You can always loose the lips of an arcanist with talk of procurement. No, there’s something I’m missing.

“Did you think those wizards were locktight?”

“No, I mean we haven’t approached the Magicians Guild yet.”

What?! She did that of her own initiative?!

Zanac side-eyed Raeven, who was himself still in shock.

Wait, so she broke faith and reached out before anyone else, doing so without informing the rest of the house? Gods, that just makes things even more complicated, doesn't it?

“House Vaiself hasn’t, but your sister has.”

“She’s involved in this?!”

“Well, as I was to understand it, the palace had been in talks to finally replace its source of lighting.”

“We were going to approach them later this week. Still, she did?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Typical of… her.”

He struggled to find words? How much vitriol does he have for her? He’s not prone to the same sort of instabilities as his brother, is he? He might be. Struck by our dear future king-cross-calamity, and then lashed by the tongue of his greater brother? What could she have done to earn such hate? Perhaps there was something to her as a child.

“My contacts weren’t very specific, I had assumed you were already in business.”

“Well, we should have been. Had we made the transition to magical light years ago, Gods know what we would have saved. Old superstitions rule too much of our policy - we don’t even have a court wizard. Yeah, no, we haven’t even gone to the guild yet.”

“I could always put in a word with-”

“Snake.”

“Undeserved! I ought to be offended.”

“In any case, why do you mention it?”

“She sent them a letter of inquest. Suffice it to say, it simply read of her style.”

“What does that mean?”

“The cost of furnishing lights for the entire city.”

“What?!”

“Well, thirty-thousand lights at high power luminance and another ten at low. There’s really only one thing that could be.”

“What cost was she quoted?!”

“Something absurd. Three figures.”

“Trade-coin?”

“Trade-standards.”

“Gods! I didn’t realize- What, what in damnation are we gonna end up spending on the palace?”

“Nothing near that, I imagine. Again, she was purchasing street lights. High intensity, durable, weather-resistant, minutia ad nauseum.”

You have to not simply encase the luminant crystals in glass but grow them in it, I think, and that demands its own hot-shop. Though, that’s only for civil applications.

“You mentioned another ten. Why the low power lights?”

“That’s the part I couldn’t figure out, I was hoping you knew.”

“Her whims are impossible to guess.”

Raeven stayed silent, waiting. It was a simple trick, using the pressure of a gap in words to bait out further elaboration. Zanac didn’t say a word; no quiver of the lips, nor slowly building tension to break with a flood of truth. Raeven was elated.

He won’t fall for that? That’s wonderful. That’s really quite wonderful. I’ll drop the subject of Renner for now.

“Anyway, I figured I’d let you know now. I imagine she’ll make some grandstanding speech about the poorer city folk when your house moves to approach the guild.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I imagine we’ll find out as soon as she performs her next trick as per the plight of the commoners and how we as their dutiful and responsible lieges, landlords, and leeches must assist them in some cause. Of course, her proposal will be nothing but something supremely spendthrift that sounds wonderful to the peasantry and nothing more. What do you imagine the angle will be this time?”

“Something about street safety. I can imagine it in her voice. Thanks for the warning.”

“Of course.”

The pair went silent for a time, instead focusing more thoroughly on their meals. Though the privacy was certainly welcome, Raeven felt the fare was substandard. Not only was the veal prepared poorly, so was the beef. He realized that this was the sort of establishment to decohere their patrons with cheap drink before robbing them blind with meals overpriced and overcooked. He took solace in his stout, the only pleasant thing set at the table. Zanac noticed the same problem, and as a solution, bisected a loaf along its length, only to fill it with thin slices of meat and cheese. Raeven took note, and did the same.

“You brought your adventurers with you? It’s a decidedly ‘House Raeven’ practice.”

“Yes, just outside”

“How many?”

“Just two.”

“Where?”

“Now you’re joking about killing me?”

“That flagon could have been poisoned. No, I was going to get them something to eat.”

“Oh, and it’s your sister who’s overly charitable?”

Zanac smiled weakly. It faded quickly, the upturned curl of his eyes drooping, as they wet and danced away.

“Raeven.”

His tone was low, speaking in an uncertain timbre.

“Yes?”

“You care about this country, don’t you?”

Be honest.

“Yes. Deeply.”

“Why?”

Raeven stopped, rolling over Zanac’s question in his mouth. His first instinct was to say ‘selfishness’, though he was less than half the cynic required to answer like that. He cycled through a number of other possibilities, be they ‘honor,’ ‘duty,’ ‘family,’ ‘enlightened self interest,’ or otherwise; none fit him, and he doubted Zanac would accept any of such. Raeven simply surrendered.

“Your Highness, questions like that don’t matter. Not really.”

“I don’t appreciate being blown off, Marquis.”

“One either cares for their country, or they don’t. A person can have reasons for it - or not; it doesn’t mean a thing either way. A person cares, so they fight for it. They are good to their vassals, loyal to their liege, pay taxes, contribute levies and tithes… Things like that. They do all those things, and irrespective of what they say or feel in their heart, irrespective of their honesty or their inner goodness, they’re the sort of Lord we need.”

Zanac lowered his head, speaking his next words so softly, Raeven strained to hear them.

“What about being an honest prince?”

“You’re speaking of your brother?”

Zanac responded not with words, but a stare. He peered at Raeven for a time, before turning away and covering his mouth with his hands. His eyes were wet.

Not Barbro, yourself. What should I say? What could I say? He’s torn, isn’t he? He knows he must take the throne; that his brother is unfit. There’s only one thing for it, then.

“Your Highness, you are not your brother.”

So say we all.

—

Lakyus gently rapped the sides of her cup, brought it to her mouth, and drank. The friendship of a princess had a bevy of benefits, but of all the access she had to funds, finance, and fineries, teas were perhaps the best.

How does she even get this stuff? I can’t imagine what she pays. It’s decadent.

"You have a weariness about you.”

Lakyus looked at her companion. Her poise and expression was the same as ever, though oddly her face had a lopsided look to it. Lakyus felt puzzled, and resolving her vision a little further, realized that Renner had left an errant stroke of eyeliner wandering round her right eye.

"You do too."

“Eh? I do?”

“Your eyeliner.”

Renner quickly scrambled her person, hands searching her dress and seat. She exhausted this, and with a little flutter of her eyes, turned to Climb with a slight decoherence.

“Run and get my pocket mirror, if you would. It’s on my vanity, the organizer on the left.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“And you needn’t call me that!”

“But-”

“No objections accepted!”

“Yes… princess.”

Climb, who had already shot up on those orders, gave a stiff bow, before darting to the door to her bedroom room. He visibly struggled working up the courage to open it, though he did, and returned a moment later with the mirror in hand. Renner snatched it from his dexter with hers, flicked it open, peered in, and proceeded to pout. Slipping a napkin out from underneath her saucer, she delicately removed the offending line, then dejectedly tossed the soiled cloth back on the table. Lakyus found the ordeal somewhat off-putting, though she couldn’t place her finger on why.

“I do apologize.”

Why is she apologizing? Her appearance? I’ve only seen that happen to her on the sixteenth and… I guess that’s it. Is something as wrong now as it was then?

“Your Highness- Renner, I couldn’t care less. What’s wrong?”

A struggle played out on Renner’s face, her eye twitching and her mouth fluttering. She lightly exhaled, before continuing.

“In truth, things have been less than well.”

“How so?”

"Oh, the usual."

She sounds torn. Something is wrong.

"Like what?"

"Frightening revelations about the foundation of the kingdom; concerns of crown and country; unsealed gaps and pits every which way."

"This from?"

"Horrors buried in the numbers."

High-bloods had many ways of dodging around questions they had no desire to answer. Nobles could find evasions, half-truths, and jinks for any scenario; the royalty elevated that skill into an art form, and Renner was adroit even among them. Lakyus was beginning to get annoyed.

"I'm not going to get a straight answer out of you, am I?"

"Ah. Sorry. I didn't wish to burden you. You have a war to fight - you and your five woman army. Matters of Kingdom are my concern. You're a hero of the age, Lakyus. Your talents are best spent-"

"Hitting things with sharp sticks? Renner, I am a noblewoman."

"Eh? No, my apologies, I hadn't the intent to be so reductive!"

I was too hostile. No, no… Damn it all. I’m way off-balance. Apologize? Something.

"I'm joking."

Ugh. That almost sounds worse.

“Oh. All correct then. Do you consider yourself one?"

“One of what?”

“A noblewoman. I know it was part of your upbringing, but are you not the very ideal of an adventurer?”

A gamut of childhood events flashed through Lakyus's mind: the preening done on her by her mother; her complete inability to remain clean for dinner; the obsession she had with her uncle. She had begged, then beseeched, then argued her case in full as to why she should be allowed to go on adventures with him. Azuth had always been indifferent to the matter, though her parents were anything but. This led to other things: her flight from home; the first skeleton she burned away on the spot; her first near brush with death; wrapping her hand around Kilineiram for the first time before she knew the curse it held. The recollection was brief, but conclusive. Lakyus had to cede the point.

"That’s not untrue, actually. I guess I’ve never really seen myself as ‘Lady Aindra’. I have hero problems to deal with. You have-"

“Princess problems?”

More like queen problems, though it's not like I could tell her that. She'd act bashful before a "It's not my place to rule," or something like that. I don’t see why. She should be queen. It’s within my power to make her one. Put down Barbro and make the rest of her siblings cede their claims. Gods, what am I thinking?

“Yes, exactly.”

"I like that framing. And what of Climb? Stoic sentry problems?”

"Valiant knight problems."

“Eh? Lakyus-”

“Lady Aindra-”

“I wouldn’t protest, Climb. She can get worse than me about this whole respect business.”

“Yes, Princess Renner.”

“You’re getting better at that too.”

Valiant knight problems - a rotten joke. Teenagers in love? It’s not like they’re ever going to be together. She dotes on him, but to what end? He will never be elevated to knight. He will never hold property, never be a vassal of a local lord. The pair spend day after day with each other and yet they get nowhere. It's pathetic. And now she’s hiding things from me. She doesn’t trust me. Or… or something. Gods, I feel ill.

"Renner, how bad is it?"

"Things beyond reckoning, though I'm sure your stresses run deeper than mine."

You are? She’s seen through me, hasn’t she? Or, maybe not, it’s hard to tell. What sort of terrible friend am I, that she needs to hide this from me?

“I guess.”

Renner looked at Lakyus closely, concern creeping into the edges of her eyes. Lakyus felt the need to squirm, something about her friend’s worry feeling both unwelcome and undeserved at the same time. Renner sensed this discomfort, furtively breaking her gaze before reaching across the table and snatching up a bell. She held it in a way that Lakyus found comically dainty and flicked it, ringing coming both from it and out in the hall. A knock came at the door a moment later, then a maid entered with a platter stacked high with what appeared to be puff pastries. Climb jumped into action, shifting the kettle and saucers to make way for the maid, who set down the fare gently before leaving. Lakyus eyed them with a degree of caution.

“What are these?”

“I’ve come to realize recently, Lakyus, that we have quite an adept baker in our service. A woman whom I will endeavor in every respect to make our head chef.”

“And these are hers?”

“Indeed, though they were made at my request. You see, Lakyus, we had a conversation - about half an hour long, actually. The deeper we got into it, the more I realized a chef is limited more by their ingredients than by their skills or equipment, and I got to thinking ‘how do I ensure she makes the best puff pastry possible?’”

“You going somewhere with this story, or am I just supposed to sit here and indulge you.”

No, shut up, Lakyus. She’s trying to be nice to you. Can’t you see that?

“Fine. I’ll cut to the point. The cream in these is mehturt’s milk.”

“Wait, what?!”

How the- a mehturt? She made cream puff pastries from the milk of a magic heifer?! I’ve never even seen one, much less run one down. How much did she pay-

“I hired a team - gold rank - to go out and get it for me.”

An adventurer team?!

“Where?!”

“Tob.”

“You sent a gold rank team into tob?”

Renner seemed to freeze for a moment, before her composure slipped.

“Was that bad? I was under the impression that your new contemporaries tamed it. ‘Darkness,’ as it were.”

“No, no. Not at all. I just- You put in that much effort into food?”

“I wanted a gift for you, I know things have been… difficult. It’s minor, but I wanted it for you and your fellows.”

Lakyus’s response was instinctual and immediate.

“I can’t accept this.”

I can’t. I can’t accept. It’s too much. It’s too decadent. I feel ill.

"Lakyus. I must say. I am quite disappointed in you."

"What?"

Gods, what does she mean? I feel ill.

"Indeed. Have you not lied to me? At least, one of omission?"

"What lie?"

"The matter of Climb's armor."

What does this have to do with anything?

"You’re still hung up on that?"

"Yes! House Vaiself is currently in talks with the magicians guild for procurement of magical light, and I had the presence of mind to inquire as to the cost of the work your crimson comrade is doing to it! Enchantments which she has couched in plenty of obscure terminology that I would be befuddled and confused by, but I, Lakyus, have come to learn that 'weaves of static and dynamic arcane fibers' are what other magicians refer to as 'protection' and 'strength!' Turning round to the guild, I found out that even performing such alteration to a stock suit of full plate was expensive enough, but mithril makes that price spectacular.

I was shocked at that, but then I had the sneaking suspicion that there was more hidden away in the armor itself.I thus inquired there, and found that, in total, you have rendered me thirty standards of materials, manufacture, and magecraft for free! So - and I mean this with complete and absolute certainty - you are never to refuse any of my gifts again, be they food, drink, or miscellaneous luxury, and you are to receive bundles such as this for the next thirty years! Do you understand, Lady Aindra?”

"But-"

"No objections whatsoever. I won't hear of it!"

"But mehturt’s cream-"

"Eat those soon or they'll spoil."

“Are you tutting me like a child?”

“In point of fact, I am!”

Lakyus tried to find a response, but couldn't. Renner sipped her tea. Climb looked ready to explode, shaking with such energy that cheeks quivered. He shot out of his chair and gave Lakyus a deep bow, before plopping back down with a look of amazement on his face. Something in Renner’s face hinted that she was not feeling catty, but sympathetic. Lakyus swallowed.

"Fine."

"Thank you. Now there’s these, but I have about another fifty ready for you and your comrades. I paid the cost for some ice and the chest it goes in, you can keep them stored there, then heat them when desired. I’ll provide instructions."

“Thank you. Thank you a lot, Renner.”

“Of course.”

“Climb, you want one?”

“Uh-”

“Say yes.”

“Yes. Thank you, Lady Aindra.”

Lakyus looked down at the platter; it was set with seven pastries, three small plates and a pair of tongs. Climb grabbed them, and began to serve Renner, who waved him off and pointed to Lakyus. She grabbed the plate from him, and after a moment’s hesitation, took a bite. It was the best pastry Lakyus had ever tasted. Had she the language or the willpower to follow its flavor profile, she would have extolled it, but she felt completely unable to do so. The three ate in silence. With each mouthful she took, she felt the need to cry a little more.

"You're right. I am war-weary."

"Talk. What's wrong?"

"Everything. Everything is wrong, Renner; everything is rotten. When we set out on this, I was worried you were going to back down first or hold us back. I remember thinking that your desire to handicap rather than vanquish them was foolish and short-sighted, but their numbers… They are so many! Gangs on every block in every poor district of every city. We have perhaps claimed a total in the hundreds, and yet they number a hundred times that. It's frightening. It’s so frightening. The damage. That supply depot you had us strike: room after room filled top to bottom with reagents and salts. How much would that have made? How many Laira fields would they have to sustain such an expanse? So many lost to dust, willing to give away everything for another high. Extortion and excursions and these endless economics engines. How much money does that bring in? I want to eradicate them, Renner. I wish I could go door to door and- and-”

Gut them. Pincushion them and rip them apart. Gore the lot of them. Slake my blade on every one I could and… and… Gods, what am I saying? This sword. What am I to do with it? Every single day, it rings stronger in my mind. How do I walk this line? I ought to pray. Do I ask her? No, I’ll do it after. He of the Still Mere, please forgive me for my sloth.

“Sorry. Sorry. I let myself get carried away.”

“Could I perhaps speak?”

“Sure. Maybe you can make sense of this.”

"We're winning, Lakyus; we're truly winning. The direct destruction of capital, be it in waylaid manpower or razed stockpiles has been significant, but I doubt they account for a fifth of what you’ve done. What they've been forced to spend fighting us, forcing them into extra guard shifts, purges by and of internal security. Of the higher ups - captains, section bosses, et cetera - the death toll is in the dozens. You’ve heard word of iron prices crashing, yes? Do you know why that was?"

“I have, and no, I don’t.”

“A complete liquidity crisis on the part of our enemies. I created a fuller figure of the Black Night, Lakyus, of its preparation. Our enemies were in deep, unbound spending.”

I don’t get the connection.

Lakyus cocked her head tiredly, Renner pulling in a sharp breath, then sheepishly doing the same.

“Sorry, I ran ahead of you. Um… The reformists - Narcotics, though Slavery plays a small part - had already waged the vast majority of their resources on the Black Night, this on the gamble they would be flush with cash from the royal treasury afterwards. That didn’t happen; instead, they lost and were forced to take loans from the shattered wreck of the Banking division. This strained the entire system, including the above-board depositories of the Merchants Guild, with front-men withdrawing whatever they could from guild accounts and depositing it into the Eight Fingers network - this to take advantage of the high interest rates that other divisions were forcing on Narcotics. The amount of onhand metal that the guild has rightful access to dropped seventy-seven percent in the course of fifteen days- er, both of you, please don't speak of that outside this room; we can’t handle a bank run.”

“Er, yes, of course, Your Highness.”

“Of course.”

I have no clue what she means. She seems to manage so much. I don’t want to drag on her. Not now.

“They could have stabilized with the incoming harvests and start to turn a profit - well, they were already running at a loss but that’s an aside - but they need materials to process Laira at scale. Capital that you destroyed a week ago, at least for this region.”

“Won’t they just send cured Laira bulbs to dens instead?”

“What they can’t immediately process, but they don’t have the cart space for direct transit to all cities. Short runs from fields to facilities, yes, but the refining process is a lynchpin component. Black Dust is potent - more captivating of the mind than Laira - but that alone doesn’t justify the cost to actually refine it; they are only ever so slightly in the money on that, at least to start. The advantage comes from everywhere else: what would take ten wagons now takes one for the same gross revenue, the ease of hiding that from inspectors; what loses strength after only a few months now lasts for up to a year, even in dry conditions; what needs to be sold and smoked in dens can now be hidden in a coat pocket - sold on the street. You are a pox upon them.”

“A pox? It’s not like we’re killing them faster than they can be replaced.”

We aren’t keeping up. It’s frustrating. How are we supposed to win? It doesn’t make sense to me.

“The bodies do not matter, at least most don’t. Eight Fingers numbers as large as four imperial legions, yet they are not knights, Lakyus. The vast majority are paupers, village ruffians or slum gangs. Some crawl up as street soldiers or enforcers, but only some. They would exist irrespective of masters holding their reigns, yoked by the current course of king and country. We have fought a war of the warren and wabe, yet it’s the well-to-do dwellings that have taken the largest brunt of our war. The experienced wetworkers you’ve taken are significant, but it is the leadership that matters most, and we’re so close to tracking them down.”

“How close, Renner? I need to know. I need to know when we can end this. This fight has been too long, and too hard. It feels like we’ve made no progress at all. I haven’t had a full-night’s rest in a week. I can’t-”

Do I tell her about the monster I carry by my side? That emptiness I bring with me everywhere I go? The things I see it in, the things it wants me to do.

Lakyus shot up out of her chair.

“I can’t stop thinking about this. I have nightmares. If I die, catch a stray bolt or a dozen, won’t everything return to normal for them?”

“Morbid realities are morbid realities, but we've made progress - we’ve made stunning progress. Our tracers are in place. It’s only a matter of time before internal turmoil forces one of them to run. Chasing whom takes flight is difficult, but their pursuers are another matter. We’ll slake ourselves on one then. If you stood outside at the beginning of this war and looked west at dusk, you could see them lurking just o'er the horizon, silhouetted deep in the fairfield. Now, Lakyus, we’re close enough to smell their breath. We‘re going to win.”

Renner rose out of her chair, and steadily walked around the table. Bringing her arms around Lakyus, she squeezed. Lakyus shook slightly, before wrapping her arms around Renner in twain. Renner pulled in close, bringing her mouth next to Lakyus’s ear, whispering.

“I need you to win.”

Lakyus pulled back, only leaving her dexter hand intertwined. She met Renner’s eyes and nodded.